by Kat Ross
She longed for sleep, but she couldn’t refuse him. Anne rummaged in her valise and took out a book.
“I have just the thing,” she said. “Quite possibly the worst book I’ve ever read. You’ll love it.”
He smiled with his eyes closed. “What is it?”
“A roman à clef by Lady Caroline Lamb after Lord Byron threw her aside.” She cleared her throat. “It’s called Glenarvon. There are so many characters you can’t keep track of anyone. And the plot makes no sense at all. But it’s wicked entertainment when you know that the villainous rake Ruthven is meant to be Byron, and poor, innocent Calantha is Lady Lamb herself. It caused quite a scandal when it was published.”
Gabriel made a small, happy noise. “Is there swooning?”
“Oodles.”
“Wanton ravishing?”
“Every other paragraph.” She opened the book. “I’ll skip the preface, it’s essentially a ridiculous denial that the novel has any basis in fact.” Anne flipped the pages. “Frailty of human nature, et cetera. Here we are. Chapter One.”
She settled back against the pillow, Gabriel’s warm body curled against her side.
“‘In the town of Belfont, in Ireland, lived a learned physician of the name of Everard St. Clare. He had a brother, who, misled by a fine but wild imagination, which raised him too far above the interests of common life, had squandered away his small inheritance; and had long roved through the world, rapt in poetic visions, foretelling, as he pretended, to those who would hear him….’”
She read until the candle burned low and Gabriel’s breathing settled to a deep, regular rhythm. Anne laid the book aside, using his black ribbon to hold the place. Then she kissed his sleep-soft lips and smoothed the damp hair from his brow.
“Je t’ai dans la peau,” she whispered.
I have you in my skin.
13
The newlyweds returned to Paris early the next morning and caught a direct train to Brussels, where the four other members of the Order of the Rose waited at a cheap, anonymous hotel near the station. The city seemed downright sleepy after the madness of the Exhibition. With most of the day still ahead, Gabriel left with Julian and Jacob to meet the Belgians, while Anne accompanied Miguel and Jean-Michel to scout the sniper point.
They walked the short distance to the main entrance of the Royal Museum of Ancient Art. Miguel stood in thought, looking around intently like a hunting hound. His gaze finally fixed on a tall building beyond the Parc de Bruxelles about half a mile away. “Ese,” he muttered.
Anne and Jean-Michel followed as Miguel strolled across the park and up the Rue Ducale. The three of them drew stares from everyone they encountered. Brussels was a white city, even more so than Paris, and any mixing of races was apparently unheard of.
“It’s because you’re both so devastatingly handsome,” Anne muttered as a woman craned her head to follow their progress down the street. “Poor things.”
“Es verdad,” Miguel replied, flashing white teeth. “It’s why I carry a vial of smelling salts. For when their knees buckle.”
Jean-Michel smiled absently, but she could see he didn’t enjoy the attention they were drawing. She sensed that it wasn’t simply the hostility. He’d expected that. But they were in Bekker’s territory now and needed to keep their heads down.
The building Miguel selected had a sweets shop on the ground floor and what looked like offices above. Anne and Jean-Michel browsed the windows as he disappeared around the corner.
“Where did he learn his sharpshooting skills?” she asked.
“In the army. Miguel was their top marksman. He killed many men for Heureaux.”
“It’s funny, he doesn’t seem the type.”
Jean-Michel laughed. “I know what you mean. But Miguel is different when he’s behind the sights. Infinitely patient. He can stay awake and focused for hours, like a tiger in tall grass.”
Anne bought them a box of chocolates to share, ignoring the surly attitude of the shopkeeper. They waited for Miguel under the awning outside.
“What kind did you get?” Anne asked, biting into an almond praline.
“Hazelnut,” Jean-Michel replied, chewing thoughtfully. “They make good chocolate here.”
“Best thing about Brussels. Much better than those little cabbages.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Trust me,” Anne advised. “They’re revolting.” She held out the box as Miguel sauntered up.
“Oooh, chocolates,” he murmured. “Gracias.” He picked one and popped it into his mouth. “There’s a rear service entrance. We’ll break in tonight for a look around, make sure it has roof access, but the line of sight should be ideal.”
They returned to the hotel and passed the afternoon playing chess at one of the tables in the rear garden. As she expected, Jean-Michel’s style was measured and cunning. Miguel, on the other hand, played with reckless panache and tended to fall into traps. They kept glancing at her wedding ring, but were too polite to say anything.
“We got married,” Anne said at last.
They had obviously deduced this, for neither seemed surprised.
“Riñen a menudo los amantes, por el gusto de hacer las paces.” Miguel grinned. “Lovers often quarrel for the pleasure of making up. I wondered when you would.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Painfully,” Jean-Michel said.
“Gabriel was angry at me when I first arrived in Bermuda,” Anne admitted. “I didn’t tell you the truth when I said he and my brother are friends. They hate each other.”
Miguel looked puzzled. “And your brother is still alive?”
“They’ve settled their differences.” Sort of. “They each stole something of great value from the other and I was caught in the middle. The whole thing ended badly but not as badly as it might have.” She paused. “Besides which, my brother wouldn’t be easy to kill. Not even for Gabriel.”
Anne watched them carefully, but both men looked blank. Gabriel had kept her secret. So had Jacob and Julian. She wasn’t sure what drove her to reveal it now. Anne wasn’t usually trusting of strangers. But they were all in this together and she liked them.
“My brother isn’t human,” she said bluntly. “Neither am I.”
Miguel eyed her uncertainly. Then he laughed and shared a look with Jean-Michel. “You almost had us there.” His smile died as Anne gazed at him. “Truly?” he whispered.
“We’re daēvas. There aren’t many of us anymore. I’m like you in most respects, but I can … do things. Magic.”
Neither man scoffed. They knew about magic — but only the magic of necromancy.
“What kinds of things?” Jean-Michel looked wary.
Anne glanced around. The garden was empty. She lifted a pawn from the board with air and let it hover for a moment. They gaped like awestruck children as she let it drop. Chairs scraped back a few inches, but they didn’t run. She gave them credit for that.
“All things are made up of four elements,” she explained. “Earth, air, fire and water. I can’t touch fire, but I can work the other three.”
No one spoke for a long moment. Then Miguel cleared his throat. “Did you learn this?”
Anne shook her head. “I was born with the ability.” She didn’t mention how long ago that was. One shock at a time.
“Thank you for being honest,” Jean-Michel said, studying her with curious eyes. To her relief, he seemed untroubled. “You didn’t have to.”
Anne smiled. “Well, I hope we’re friends for a long time so you might as well know.”
“Will you help?” Miguel asked. “On Saturday?”
She looked away. “I want to very much, but Gabriel says I can’t. Bekker carries a talisman that would warn him if my powers are used. I’d only put you all in greater danger.”
“Damn.”
“That’s what I said.” She tapped the pawn on the table, suddenly restless. “And what about you? Why are you here?”
&nbs
p; They exchanged a quick look.
“Never mind,” she said quickly. “That was an impolite question. You don’t have to answer.”
“No,” Jean-Michel said. “I don’t mind.” He sat back, stretching out his long frame. “My great-grandmother was born into slavery, but her owner was no ordinary man. He was a sorcier. A necromancer. When the uprisings swept the countryside and the plantations began to fall, many died trying to get to this man. Somehow D’Ange learned of it. He came to Haiti and killed him. The insurgents would have won regardless, but he saved lives. Only a sorcier can kill another sorcier.”
“So you felt you owed him a debt?”
“No. D’Ange did it for his own reasons, just as I have mine. Haiti is free now, but others still suffer. It is my Christian duty to help them. And the Order shares my enemies.”
Miguel Salvado nodded in agreement. “My tale is less dramatic, but I too despise the colonialists. And I’m tired of serving corrupt men.” He fingered the cross around his neck. “D’Ange is a true servant of God. I am content to follow him.”
Jean-Michel leaned forward. “He only joined because I did,” he whispered to Anne. “I tried to get rid of him, but he follows me like a lost puppy.”
Miguel made some retort and then the two of them were happily bickering again and the mood lightened.
“Don’t make me gag you with bonds of air,” Anne threatened.
“Could you really do that?” Miguel asked, sobering.
“Oh, yes.” She bit back a smile. “Take care you don’t offend me. I could snap my fingers and you’d both find yourself naked as jaybirds.”
The look on their faces was priceless.
“Well, gentlemen,” she said with a yawn. “I think I’ll go shopping. If you’ll excuse me?”
They shot to their feet as she stood. “Have a pleasant afternoon,” Miguel said faintly. Jean-Michel gave her a smart bow.
Anne made her way to the Saint-Hubert Royal Galleries. She bought a new pair of gloves, but the shops were closing by the time she started looking at dresses. Black it was again.
Gabriel was waiting in their room when she returned.
“How did your meeting go?” she asked, giving him a proper wifely kiss.
“Very well. They’re working on getting the guest list and details of the security arrangements, Bekker’s in particular.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “What did you do today?”
“Ate chocolate and played chess. Miguel found a good spot.”
“For chess?” he teased.
“For shooting at the king.”
“Yes, I saw him on the way in. He congratulated me on my marriage.”
“I told them a bit. Not everything, but they know what I am.”
“I’m glad you trust them.”
“I have to.” She paused. “But I think I would anyway.”
Gabriel smiled. “I still want to take you to the opera,” he said. “Tonight.”
Anne frowned. “Is it wise for you to go somewhere so public?”
“I paid for a private box.” Gabriel ran a thumb along her cheekbone. “This isn’t exactly the honeymoon I imagined, but we can still try to enjoy ourselves.”
Anne was touched. “I’d love to.”
He grinned. “But I do agree it might be best to change my appearance first. Would you cut my hair?” Gabriel glanced at a pair of scissors waiting on the dresser.
“How short do you want it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Short.”
Gabriel sat on a low stool. She laid a towel across his shoulders and began to snip. Sun-bleached locks drifted to the floor. The hair underneath was darker and stuck up like a brush. Anne smoothed it down with a dampened comb. It felt silky under her hands, like fur.
The bathroom had a small oval mirror above the sink. Gabriel went in and started fussing with the contents of a make-up box. When he emerged, she looked him over.
“Hmmm,” she said, stroking her chin. “Something’s different. I can’t quite place it….”
“My nose?”
“Ah, that’s it.”
He waggled his eyebrows. She had to admit the overall effect was convincing if one didn’t look too closely. The beard obscured his features and the nose…. Well, it was realistic enough.
“You look like a Shakespeare villain,” she said. “Can’t think which one though. What are we seeing tonight?”
“Carmen.”
“What’s it about?”
Gabriel stared at her. “You’ve never heard of Carmen?”
“Sorry. I don’t go to the opera very often.”
“It’s by Georges Bizet.” He put on a dark coat and ran his hands through his hair, rubbing the back of his head. “It feels so strange.”
“Sung in French then?”
“Yes. Carmen caused quite a stir when it debuted in Paris. Bizet broke all the old conventions with his wild gypsy heroine. I won’t spoil the end for you, but it’s bloody.”
“What time does it start?”
Gabriel laughed at the speculative gleam in her eye. “Soon, I’m afraid. The curtain goes up in less than half an hour.”
“Let me just get ready.”
Gabriel nodded, unbuckling the blade from his waist. “I’ll leave the sword with Julian. Meet me downstairs?”
Anne nodded. She brushed her hair and pinned it up, then donned her new gloves. When she opened the door, she heard soft voices in the stairwell below. She didn’t try to eavesdrop, but her hearing was acute and their words were impossible to miss.
“I don’t begrudge your happiness,” Julian said. “It just seems so quick.”
Gabriel sounded annoyed. “It’s not your business, brother.”
“It is if she’s here. After what happened, I can’t help—”
“Peace.” There was a hard edge of warning in his voice. “You’re very close to crossing a line you don’t ever want to cross with me.”
Julian was silent for a long moment. “Do as you will,” he growled, footsteps striding away.
Anne shut the door and went down the stairs. Gabriel looked troubled, but he turned with a smile when he saw her and offered his arm. “We should hurry,” he said. “Better to arrive after the rest are already in their seats, but I don’t want to miss the opening chorus.”
She decided to put Julian out of her mind and simply enjoy her husband’s company. They stepped into the cool evening together. “How does it begin?” she asked.
Gabriel brightened. He loved to tell stories. “In Seville, where a group of soldiers are standing watch at the foot of a bridge. There’s a cigarette factory on the square. The bell rings and the girls come off their shift and start bantering with the soldiers….”
Part III
“As a musician I tell you that if you were to suppress adultery, fanaticism, crime, evil, the supernatural, there would no longer be the means for writing one note.”
―Georges Bizet
14
La Monnaie opera house, known as the Koninklijke Muntschouwburg by the city’s Flemish citizens, or more simply, De Munt, sat in the center of a large square. It resembled a Greek temple, with eight columns supporting a pediment carved with a bas-relief called the Harmony of Human Passions. They arrived a minute before curtain call and the twelve-hundred seat auditorium was already full.
Gabriel addressed the attendant in Dutch as he handed over the tickets, making some joke about how late they were that made the man laugh. The harsh syllables rolled easily off Gabriel’s tongue and Anne realized he had the kind of face that blended in almost anywhere in Europe. With his blonde hair, brown eyes and skin that could be either sun-dark or milky pale, he was a chameleon. Adding his fluency with languages, which rivaled Anne’s brother Alec, Gabriel passed for a local wherever he went.
They made their way upstairs to the box and sat down just as the house lights dimmed.
The set was just as he’d described. Anne had never been able to follow opera very well, but the plot w
as simple enough. A soldier named Don José is due to meet his childhood sweetheart. She comes looking for him at the guardhouse, but he’s not yet arrived for duty. She declines to wait and leaves. Then the sultry gypsy Carmen appears. Don José does his best to ignore her, but Carmen taunts him by tossing a flower at his feet to claim him as her lover.
Don José turns out to be a pathologically jealous type and the story goes downhill from there, though Gabriel had refused to reveal the ending.
Now he leaned over. “She will sing L'amour est un oiseau rebelle.” His hand rested on Anne’s knee. The heat of it sank straight through her skirts. “Love is a rebel bird. Also known as La Habanera. One of the greatest arias ever written.”
Carmen strode across the stage, dress swishing. The actress was a mezzo soprano with long, dark hair and a lovely voice. The two-four rhythm of the song reminded Anne of a tango.
When will I love you?
Good Lord, I don't know,
Maybe never, maybe tomorrow...
But not today, that's for sure!
Gabriel never turned his head, but Anne felt the hem of her gown begin to creep up as his fingers bunched in the material. “When I met you at the opera house in Strasbourg, you ruined L’Orfeo for me,” he said softly.
A smile hovered at the corners of her lips. “How so?”
“I was plagued by impure thoughts. I tried praying, but it was useless.”
Carmen prowled among the soldiers, a red rose in her hair, flirting shamelessly. It was clear why Parisians had been shocked. Anne had never seen such a display on stage before. It was quite daring — and great fun to watch performed in front of such a stiff audience.
“You poor thing,” Anne whispered.
Gabriel’s palm found her knee. “But now that I’m your husband, I can do as I please.” One finger slid to the edge of her stocking, lightly tracing the strap of the garter. His innocent gaze was still fixed on the stage.
“Oh, really?”
“Unless you tell me to stop.”